Fully Clothed Crazies

Longtime readers of HamannEggs will remember the “Naked Crazies.” That time between dinner and bed when baby Luca and Elijah would race around the house being, uh, unclothed and loony. It was best just to curl up into a ball and wait it out.

Diana has her own version: The “Fully Clothed Crazies.” The Fully Clothed Crazies are when she will dive headlong into a house project and there is no tearing her away until it’s done. Last week, it was cleaning the boy’s basement video game room/garbage barge. It was dis-gus-ting. Broken toys everywhere. Half chewed candy debris. Doors off hinges. There was even a pile of white powder that I can only assume was high quality cocaine. 

She attacked the basement with the furor of a meth addict taking apart an air conditioner. She boxed up hundreds of pounds of plastic, she scraped socks off the ceiling, she scrubbed and vacuumed and straightened.

Did the boys help? Well, if you mean being constantly distracted and frustrating and complain-y, yes they helped. Like all Fully Clothed Crazies, it was best for everyone to just get out of the way and compliment Diana vigorously afterwards.

The mistake the boys made was blatantly ignoring Diana’s frequent request to clean their rooms. And being kinda stinkers about it. I can’t remember what snide response set her off, but at some point in the evening the Fully Clothed Crazies turned into the Fully Clothed Rage-ies. 

The boys got both barrels. They did nothing to help around the house (true). They did not help with the dogs (also true). They were spoiled little jerks (pretty true). I was just glad that a blog-worthy meltdown wasn’t mine for once. 

The boys were determined to clean up after themselves. Which is hard for kids who spent a lifetime throwing things over their heads like Ralphie and Randy with socks on Christmas morning.

I decided to employ a time honored Dad tactic: being as annoying as humanly possible. 

Every time I find a granola bar wrapper, t-shirt or nerf bullet, I shout throughout the house, “Boyyyyyyyyyys! Boyyyyyyyyyyys! Come heeeeeeere!”

From the Fornite battle comes the response, “What?”

“Come heeeeeeere!”

“What?”

“Come heeeeeere!”

This goes on for a few minutes. I know my annoying voice will win eventually and they’ll come crawling up from the depths. 

Then, like a one year old who sees snow for the first time, I’ll gleefully say, “Oooh. Look. A sock. Guys! A sock! Come here. Look. A sock…”

This non-yelling annoyance disgusts them. And they’ll pick whatever it is up. 

I do this thousands of times a day. “Boyyyyyyyyyyyys!”

I think it’s slowly working, because Eli volunteered to clean up his lunch mess today. Was it because he is becoming responsible? Was he utterly annoyed with me? Does it matter?